


Bury Your Love

by lovetincture



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02 Primavera, Hand Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19122268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetincture/pseuds/lovetincture
Summary: The catacomb was filled with rough, harsh pants. The slap of skin on skin. Will felt half drugged with the taste of Hannibal, blood and lust when he said it.“You’ve made a monster out of me.”That scene in the catacombs beneath the Norman Chapel could have ended much differently. They bring out the worst in each other.





	Bury Your Love

“What do you want?” Will hissed, baring his teeth against the way Hannibal held him, hand fisted tight in his hair.

Hannibal pulled tighter, wrenching Will’s head back so his throat was bared in a taut, lean arch. A bright spark of pain traveled along Will’s nerve endings, generated from the points of contact between Hannibal and himself—fingertips against his scalp, the firm line of his thighs pressed against his ass, muscular even through the wool of his dress pants.

Will swallowed to keep from moaning. It was exceedingly difficult from this position. The movement pulled the tendons in his throat tighter.

“An answer, please,” Hannibal said. His voice was low and unhurried, dripping like honey into Will’s ear. “You’ve come a long way to find me. What do you plan to do now that you’ve caught me?”

Will licked his lips. “I want you to let me go.”

He didn’t think there was a snowball’s chance in hell that Hannibal would, but it seemed Hannibal was full of surprises today. He let go of Will’s hair. He took a step back. Will would have believed he was completely unaffected, were it not for the way his chest was rising and falling just a little too quick, a little too hard.

“And now?”

It wouldn’t be fair to call it a split-second decision. That implied any amount of forethought at all, and there was none. Not here. Will strode forward and caught Hannibal by the hair, fingers twisted in an echo, be it mockery or homage, of the way Hannibal had held him.

“Get on your knees,” Will said.

The resounding thud of Hannibal’s knees striking the floor echoed in the stone walls of the catacomb.

Will didn’t think he’d do it, so the sudden movement came as a surprise. He managed to keep his hand on Hannibal on the way down, firm without hurting him, without ripping the hair from his roots, much as he might like to.

Hannibal looked up at him, eyes glittering black and flat in the dim light. The sight made Will’s throat go dry and tight, as though Hannibal still had his hand wound around him and not the other way around. The air was stagnant, dank. It carried the idea of bodies long dead, of history left to ruin and rot.

Hannibal waited.

It was the look on his face that did it, in the end. Will had come here prepared for a fight. It wasn’t that he’d wanted one, exactly. He didn’t know what he wanted, even now. Especially now that Hannibal was asking him, insistent.

He was driven here by inevitability. He didn’t want Hannibal. Hannibal was inevitable, a constant exerting force upon his life, pushing and prodding at him until he snapped then pushing some more. The fight, too, seemed inevitable.

And here Hannibal had thrown a wrench in all his half-laid plans, offering himsef up as though it were part of the deal. As though there  _ was _ a deal here and not just an ever-growing pile of betrayals to burn.

It was the way Hannibal looked up at him, eyes filled with something approaching transcendental devotion, religious fervor. On his knees, quiet.

The supplication was beautiful. Terrible. He wanted to protect it, wanted to ruin it. He wanted to bloody Hannibal’s face and grind it into the dirt.

He wanted to punish the both of them, Hannibal for bringing this out in him, and himself for wanting it at all. Will let go of the fistful of hair in his hand and hit the ground beside him, heedless of the way the hard ground knocked at his knees. The gash on his stomach was newly healed and it offered an echo of pain when jostled. The sensation fueled something in him that might have been lust but felt like madness.

“What have you done to me?” Will hissed in his ear, yanking the fly of Hannibal’s pants down so he could get his hand inside.

He curled his hand around Hannibal’s cock, too rough, hard enough to hurt. He pulled him in short, harsh strokes, twisting his fist cruelly at the top, drinking in the little punched-out noises Hannibal was making. The metal teeth of the zipper were digging into the skin of his wrist, stinging with every movement, and Will didn’t care.

He hoped it hurt both of them, wanted it to.

He licked the side of Hannibal’s neck and felt the pulse jumping just beneath the skin, hard and true. He licked him again, then again. He groaned at the taste, at the drag of stubble beneath his tongue, and Hannibal brought his hands up to grasp at Will’s arms, fingers tighening even as he shoved him away.

Will gave into the latent urge to  _ bite, _ to sink his teeth into flesh until he tasted blood. Hannibal whined, low and soft. It made Will bite harder, give into some desire lurking in him—unnamed and unwanted—simmering just beneath the surface. It was always there, always waiting for him. The drive to rend and tear and bite. To mark and to own. To  _ destroy. _

The catacomb was filled with rough, harsh pants. The slap of skin on skin. Will felt half drugged with the taste of Hannibal, blood and lust when he said it.

“You’ve made a monster out of me.”

That wrenched a noise from Hannibal then, just that. Only that, finally. Broken and exulted.

“I should gut you,” Will said. “I should leave you here, bleeding out in the dark, leave you for some poor priest to find. Your blood sticky on the floor, body decomposing, wasted and alone. How long do you think it would take anyone to find you?”

_ “Will,” _ Hannibal gasped.

He sped up his strokes and pulled the knife out of his jacket pocket with his free hand. He flicked it open and held the blade to the side of Hannibal’s throat, pressed it in just deep enough to bite.

That pushed Hannibal over the edge. He came with a silent shudder, flooding Will’s hand with sticky warmth.

He sank forward to lean his forehead against Will’s, fearless in his disregard for the knife between them. Will tensed at the contact before leaning into it. He drew the knife carefully back, tossing it aside so he could wrap an arm around Hannibal, first one and then the other. So he could card his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

Will fit his chin into the crook of Hannibal’s neck and inhaled. He smelled like leather. Like unfamiliar cologne and overheated skin.

It was dim in these passages. Will could smell and feel Hannibal more than he could see him, so he let his eyes close. Sight was of no great benefit here.

They stayed there for long moments. Will willed time to stop, to pass them by, to let him live in this moment independent of everything that had come before and everything that was still to come after.

But if there was a God, he didn’t give a damn about anyone, much less the two of them. Time wore on apace, as it always did. Sweat and come cooled between them, growing itchy and uncomfortable. Hannibal shifted as if the cold stone beneath them hurt his knees, and it probably did.

Will sighed. He pressed his mouth to Hannibal’s forehead in a glancing brush. It could have been a kiss, or an accident. He got to his feet with a groan and held a hand out to Hannibal.

Hannibal took it, allowing Will to lever him up as he unfolded, far more graceful than anyone had a right to be after all that. He tucked himself back into his pants and redid his fly. Will could just make out the little grimace that flitted across his face when he encountered the damp patch that was no doubt sticking his clothes to his skin.

It made him smile, just a little.

“And now?” Hannibal asked.

If Will expected him to sound softened, basking in the glow of an orgasm, he would have been disappointed. Hannibal sounded just the same as he always did.

He expected nothing less.

“We should probably get out of here before Inspector Pazzi comes back.”

“Probably,” Hannibal allowed. Then, curious. “Would you have really left me here for a priest to find?”

“I don’t know.”

Hannibal seemed satisfied with the answer. He cocked his head, reading Will with those inscrutable eyes. “Did you get what you came for?”

“Not yet,” Will said. He brushed their fingers together.

It was a cautious invitation, and Hannibal graciously accepted.

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my [original writing here](https://hopezane.com) if you're interested.
> 
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/lovetincture) | [Tumblr](http://lovetincture.tumblr.com) | [Dreamwidth](http://lovetincture.dreamwidth.org)


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